


Blue Silk

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: AU, Demisexuality, Handcuffed Together, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Sex Pollen, Sex Work, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22421656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Geralt drags Jaskier off into a tavern opposite the forge. It smells of woodsmoke and sweat inside and it takes a moment to find a bench they can sit on together. “She’s your mother,” Geralt says. “How do we break the spell?”Jaskier frowns. “Do you really not…It’s obvious, isn’t it?”“Is it.”“You fuck me,” says Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 70
Kudos: 938





	1. Chapter 1

The Queen Regent, Jaskier’s mother, paces the throne room’s marble floor. Heels clicking, silk skirt rustling as Jaskier watches her, his chin in one hand as he sprawls on the cool throne. “The revel of your birthright is six months away, Jaskier,” mother says. “You must be fully prepared.”

“Prepared for an orgy, you mean,” says Jaskier, grimly. Slumping down further on his father’s throne. He’s been sitting on this throne since he was 15, but it’s still his father’s. It feels too big for him.

“Yes,” says mother. “You will be King of Starra, things are expected of you. We have a grand tradition of…”

“Fucking?” says Jaskier, a little too loudly in the echoey, empty throne room.

“Sensuality, Jaskier,” says mother. “Pleasure is the way of Starra. It informs all our customs. Things are expected of you as king in waiting.” She comes to him, silk against marble. “I won’t always be here to guide you.”

“So you need to be sure I can fuck?” says Jaskier.

Mother draws close. The customs of Starra require that Jaskier’s widowed mother wear black silk until the day she dies, and yet also it requires that she have multiple public consorts, numerous lovers and take part in orgies at least every full moon. At least none of those consorts were here now, a blessed rarity. Jaskier has had entirely too any conversations with his mother while a greasy looking lord paws at her bare breasts. She bends before him on the supplication stool and takes one of his hands. “Yes. Jaskier, you have a duty to your people. You can’t just sit around in your chambers writing songs. As your mother, as your queen, yes, indeed I do need to be sure you can fuck. Do even know, for example, if you prefer to lie with men or women?”

“I don’t care,” says Jaskier. “I don’t really see things like that. I don’t want to roll around naked with someone I’ve just met.”

“Rolling naked can be very pleasurable,” mother says. “And I suppose, it’s easier with your own kind to start. My first time was with the Princess of Lyria. You know, your late father’s sister.”

“Mother, please. I don’t wish to know that about Aunt Caro.”

Mother stands. Her mouth is a tight line. “Something must be done about this Jaskier. It is my duty. And until you turn 21, I am both your mother and your sovereign.”

* * *

Two night later, Jaskier lies in his bed chamber. It’s a hot night and he’s bare, sleeping under a thin sheet of blue silk. He’s having trouble falling asleep. He’s too hot and his mind is still turning over the conversation with his mother in the throne room.

Part of him can’t understand why he’s being so stubborn about this? How hard can it be to fornicate? How complicated is it to preside over an orgy. His father must have done it countless times and he was buffoon. Everyone said so. It was widely accepted that Starra’s fortunes were all due to his shrewd mother. Perhaps if he had someone like his mother to stand beside him. Although, of course, they should be nothing like his mother. But someone to be with him. Someone he cared for. Perhaps then, all this would be easier.

He startles at the sound of his chamber door opening, sits up in bed with a start. There ought to be a guard outside that door. No one ought to be able to enter. But, nevertheless, as he looks, a man steps in though the open door.

His face is in shadow, but his shape is clear, defined, black against the light from the hallway. He’s a big man, tall and with shoulders almost wide enough to fill the door frame.

Jaskier pulls the silk tight around himself. “Who are you?” he says, as the door closes softly behind the large man. As the light changes, his face becomes visible in the moonlight from Jaskier’s window. It’s a broad masculine face. A handsome face.

“I’m the whore,” says the man.

“The what?” says Jaskier in a voice about an octave higher than normal.

“The whore. For your bed.”

“I didn’t ask for a whore,” says Jaskier, curling up on the bed, trying to make himself small under the thin silk.

“The Queen Regent brought me from Kristan,” says the man. “You are Jaskier? The prince?” In the shadows, Jaskier can see a frown on the man’s face. “Didn’t you know I was coming?”

“No I did not,” says Jaskier. 

“I see. Then I will leave.” The man turns around and moves to open the door. It doesn’t move. He turns back to Jaskier saying, “This door is locked.”

Jaskier sighs. “Wonderful. I expect my mother’s intention is not to let you out until I am no longer a virgin.”

The man leans back against the closed door. It make his shoulders look even wider. He thrusts is groin forward. “In that case, are you sure you do not require my services? Your mother paid me for the night. And if she is so keen I take your maidenhead as to lock me in here.”

It’s hard to tell in the low light, but Jaskier thinks the man might have smiled when he said that. He crosses his arms over the silk. “If that’s your aim then it will be by force.”

“I see,” the man says. He pushes off the door stalks over to the bed. Jaskier cowers away from him. He is very large. There is no way Jaskier would be able to stop him if he did attempt force. And if fucking Jaskier is the only way he can get out of the room, perhaps he will. Every muscle in Jaskier’s body tenses. He looks around for grabbable weapons and comes up with nothing. 

The man sits down on the nearside of the bed, furthest from Jaskier’s cowering silk-wrapped body. It dips noticeably. 

“Don’t touch me,” Jaskier manages.

“I won’t.” He does smile then, his face is clear enough this close to see it. “Not breaking guild code for you.” And he lies down on the bed. “But I might as well get some sleep.”

Now, Jaskier can see the man actually is as enormous as he seemed framed in the doorway. He’s wearing black breeches, very tight ones. And his chest is bare apart from a silver chain. He’s half naked, which is still a lot less naked than Jaskier. 

“You can’t just sleep in my bed,” says Jaskier.

“Your floor is marble,” says the man. “My name’s Geralt, if that helps. I know some like to know the names of the men they sleep with. If I’m stuck in here all night, and you don’t want pleasure, I think I’ll sleep.” He looks up at Jaskier. “She’s really keen on your deflowering isn’t she, your mother?”

Carefully Jaskier lies himself down next to Geralt, taking care that the blue silk covers every part of him. “It’s kind of the thing in Starra. Sex. Sensual pleasure. Orgies for every occasion.”

“But not your thing. And it will be your kingdom.”

“Yep. The gods decided to have some fun with me.”

“There are people you know, who do not care for love making.”

Jaskier stares at his bed canopy. “It’s not that I don’t care for it. I just want it to happen with people I care about. People I trust.”

“I see,” Geralt stretches on the bed. One big muscular arm moves very close to Jaskier across the pillow. He curls smaller, away from it. “We’ll fix this in the morning.”

“You don’t know my mother. What makes you think she’ll let you out in the morning?”

“She only paid me for a night. My rates are going to rise very fast in the morning. Goodnight.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to sleep.”

“I am. You should do the same, darling.”

Jaskier doesn’t expect sleep to come easily with this _creature_ in is bed, but it does.

* * *

Jaskier wakes to find mother standing at the foot of his bed and Geralt still sleeping beside him.

Mother looks suspiciously at Geralt’s big half-naked body. “His breeches are still on. Did he fuck you?” mother says. “I will know if you lie.”

She’s holding a tiny purple flame in her hand. Jaskier knows better than to try and lie when she’s holding a fire of truth.

“No,” he says. “He would not without my consent.”

“And you didn’t give it to him?”

“No.”

“Why ever not? Do you not find him comely. He was the best one I saw.”

“Mother, I don’t _know_ him.”

Mother sighs and looks down. When she raises her eyes again she still looks frustrated, but there is another look. Jaskier knows his mother well, has sat beside her while she ran Starra for over five years. She has just made a hard decision. The flame in her hand has changed colour. It’s yellow and turquoise. Jaskier has never seen that one before. “Jaskier,” says mother, “you have put me in a very difficult position.”

“Mother, you locked a whore in my bedroom.”

“And you did nothing but sleep.”

Both of them have raised their voices. Geralt grunts and opens one eye. They both watch his face as he looks over at Jaskier and then at mother, remembering where he is.

“Your majesties,” he says eventually. 

“I paid you good silver to fuck my son, whore” says mother, small pink marks appearing on her cheeks.

“You did, your majesty. But there are guild rules about consent.”

“I hope you both realise then, that I have no choice about this,” she says and as she raises her hand to throw the magical flame at them, Jaskier shouts, “What, no mother, _wait_.”

* * *

The world flashes yellow and turquoise. Jaskier’s _wait_ is still on lips when he finds himself sitting on a sunny forest floor. Geralt is next to him. Jaskier is still naked, relieved to find the blue silk has come with them. He pulls it back around himself.

Geralt looks around, then at Jaskier. “Your mother is a sorceress?”

“Yes. I suppose. She can do a lot of things,” Jaskier says. 

He notices it then. A pressure on his right wrist. He looks down and sees the iron cuff. Then the short chain. Then the cuff on Geralt’s left wrist. “Oh,” he says softly, and mostly to himself. “Oh no.”

Geralt is looking too. He lifts his hand. The short chain and then Jaskier’s hand follows it. “What,” says Geralt, “the fuck is this?”

“I did tell you my mother wouldn’t just give up in the morning and let you go.”

Geralt looks at the cuffs for a long moment without speaking. Eventually he says, “We need to find a blacksmith.”

Geralt gets to his feet and Jaskier has no choice but to do likewise. “They’re magic,” Jaskier says as he stumbles upright. “I’m not sure if a blacksmith will be able to remove them.”

“He’d better,” says Geralt. They’re already walking though the trees. Jaskier half being pulled along “How am supposed to make a living otherwise? You think my wealthy patrons will hand over coin for me in their beds if I have to bring you along too?”

“They might,” says Jaskier, struggling to keep up with Geralt’s long-legged gait, holding the silk around him as best he can.

“They won’t.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with me?”

Geralt just looks at him.

“I’m just saying, you could make it a feature.”

“No.”

“Could you walk more slowly?” says Jaskier as he stumbles, bare feet on stony ground.

“No,” says Geralt. Jaskier notices Geralt is wearing boots, which he must have slept in to still have them now.

Sticking with Geralt’s pace, they find a path and follow it to a small village, where a red-faced blacksmith takes one look at the cuffs and says, “Those are magic. I’m not ruining an anvil trying to smash those open. You need a wizard not me.” He cocks is head. “Unless you can break the spell.”

“What spell?” says Geralt.

“You need to ask whoever put them on you, what spell is keeping them closed,” says the blacksmith, turning back to his fire with a shrug.

Geralt drags Jaskier off into a tavern opposite the forge. It smells of woodsmoke and sweat inside and it takes a moment to find a bench they can sit on together. “She’s your mother,” Geralt says. “How do we break the spell?”

Jaskier frowns. “Do you really not…It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Is it.”

“You fuck me,” says Jaskier.

“Oh. Right,” says Geralt. “Wizard it is then. You got much coin? Wizards cost.”

“Yes. A lot. I’m a prince, remember. But where are we going to find a wizard who will help us.”

“Don’t know,” says Geralt, “Ask around.” He pauses and takes a long look at Jaskier, wrapped in silk and nothing else. “You look more like a whore than I do, darling.”

“Thank you. Perhaps we could get me some clothes.”

“If we get time,” says Geralt. “Finding a wizard could be a long trek.”


	2. Chapter 2

They use Geralt’s small supply of coin to buy some provisions from the tavern keeper. He doesn’t have much in the purse on his belt but there is enough for some hard bread and two small pies. 

“We won’t get far on this,” says Jaskier, looking at the miserable pile of supplies.

“Shame I can’t earn more coin,” says Geralt. “If I wasn’t attached to you I reckon I could make at least thirty silver out of this place.”

Jaskier looks around. He shudders at the idea. The place seems full of dirty unwashed barbarians. “How many people is thirty silver?” he says, trying to picture it. Trying to understand what it is Geralt actually does. 

_Does he kiss them? Does he find pleasure in it for himself?_

“Three,” says Geralt casually, wrapping the food and putting it in his pack. Of course Jaskier’s hand has to follow his as he does it. Jaskier is getting a little used to it, finds a way of letting Geralt do what he’s doing and letting his hand follow. It’s intimate and strange.

“So you charge ten silver?” Jaskier asks, trying to sound casual but he is so, oddly fascinated. “Is that what my mother paid you?”

“No.” Geralt says, closing the pack. “Ten silver is to fuck. The whole night is fifty. She paid me fifty silver. “ 

“Shame you didn’t have that in your purse when she cast her spell,” Jaskier says, at the mention of fifty silver, thinking less about Geralt fucking for coin and more about about how little they have to eat.

“Yes,” says Geralt. “Shame I don’t carry small fortunes around waiting to get robbed. Now, shall we find ourselves a wizard?”

Three different people in the tavern give them directions to three different wizards. It seems unlikely that these are really all _different_ wizards, so the some of the information is probably wrong. 

“If you had any coin with you we could get someone to guide us,” says Geralt, muttering into a cup of ale he bought, for himself, with the very last of his money.

“What?” says Jaskier. “Don’t say that like it’s my fault. I didn’t exactly get a chance to pack. I’m wearing a bed sheet. I don’t have a coin purse with me do I?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “I’m just asking because you told me you were rich and yet I have had to pay for everything.”

“I am rich. You know I’m rich. I’m Regent Prince of Starra. I will pay you back everything when we return to my castle. And I’ll pay you fifty silvers for every night you’ve had to spend with me, if you feel you’ve earned it.”

“Fine,” says Geralt. “That will do for a minimum.” He downs the rest of the ale. “And we should leave. The nearest of the three potential wizards is Kandan, who lives at the top of Grey Mountain. At least we can’t get lost. It’s four days walk. Five if we walk at your pace.”

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

Geralt gives him a look. 

Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I can only apologise that my legs are not the size and shape of full grown oak trees.” 

“Apology accepted, “ says Geralt. “Come on then.” And he turns and walks out of the tavern, pulling Jaskier behind him.

*

They walk out of the village heading north. Grey Mountain is a clear feature on the distant horizon. It’s cloudy and drizzling and Jaskier trudges miserably, half a pace behind Geralt, wrapped tightly in the blue silk. The manacles start to hurt on his wrist, the length of the chain seems to get more restrictive. He tries to walk on soft ground, but still his feet are sore in less than an hour.

They make dull miserable progress. Each locked in their own resentful thoughts about the situation in which they ave found themselves, until eventually Geralt says, “We should find somewhere to stay for the night?”

They’ve stopped in a clearing in the woods. 

“Just,” Jaskier looks around, “here. On the ground?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“Can’t we find a village, get a room in a tavern?”

“No, because I’m out of money and even if I had money, there is no village. Have you never slept on the ground before?” They’re in a small dip, sheltered from the wind and the ground is covered in moss. But it’s still cold and miserable. The only good thing to Jaskier, about what’s just been said is the idea that it involves stopping and therefore, not walking.

“No,” says Jaskier, “I have not because I am extremely wealthy and I live in a palace.”

“In that case, welcome to the real world, my prince. Let’s make a fire. And hope nothing eats us in the night.”

Jaskier follows Geralt miserably, as he gathers woods and kindling, builds a fire and lights it. When the orange flames take hold it’s already growing dark. The sit together on a fallen tree and Geralt takes the two small pies from his pack. They both eat the pies. They are cold but not terrible. Jaskier’s sheet is hanging in rags where it snagged on brambles as Geralt pulled him along. His feet hurt. The prospect of sleeping on the ground, in the open, is still making is feel dejected. “Four days of this,” he says, utterly miserable.

Geralt finishes the last of his pie. “Five the pace you walk.”

“Will you stop going on about that. I walk fine. I’d walk better if I had some boots.”

Geralt grunts. “Nothing to be done about that,” he says.

“You know, there is an easier way to fix this,” Jaskier says, looking down at the fire.

“Is there?”

Jaskier shrugs. He can’t look at Geralt while he says it. He hopes the hot flames on his face disguise the blush. “Break the spell,” he says.

“No.”

“It would be easier than travelling all this way to find a wizard. If you lie with me then we are done. It’s over.”

“You said you didn’t want to,” says Geralt firmly. 

“I don’t, but, well, clearly my mother’s plan was to put me in a position where I had no choice, so…”

“Jaskier, you have a choice. The choice is the wizard.”

“I’m just saying, we don’t have to.” Jaskier touches Geralt’s thigh with his cuffed hand. “We could fix this now. Tonight.” He looks at Geralt’s mouth in the firelight.

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places it back on Jaskier’s own thigh. The silk has slipped from it. Geralt’s fingers touch Jaskier’s bare skin there. “No,” Geralt says. “Not without your consent.”

“I am consenting,” says Jaskier.

“No, you’re not.” 

*

It’s cold in the morning. The fire is gone. They both drink some water and set out on their journey early. Jaskier’s body aches all over. He’s hungry, but all they have is the hard bread and they ought to save that for the evening.

But the journey get’s easier when the sun climbs higher. With tGrey Mountain still on the horizon, they leave the woods and walk on though grassland. It’s warm and pleasant. The grass is a bright vivid green that lift the spirits. It feels cool and soothing under Jaskier’s sore feet.

Set alone atop a small hill, they come across a plum tree, heavy with sweet fruit. Together they snatch some up, laughing at their luck, and eat gratefully. Jaskier eats fast, getting juice on his chin, then suggests they take as many as they can carry to the stream he can see at the bottom of the small hill, so he can wash his face and soak his feet in the water. 

When they get down to stream, on a large flat stone at its bank, is a pair of boots and a fur cloak. They both stare at the items suspiciously. There’s no one around. The only sound is birdsong. 

“That’s odd,” says Geralt.

Jaskier inspects the boots more closely. They are just his size. “This is…” He looks at Geralt. “It’s my mother,” he says. “Not just this, but the sun, the plums, all of it. It’s not just luck. It’s magic. It’s a reward of sorts.”

“A reward for what?” says Geralt, sitting down beside the stream and pulling Jaskier down with him. He removes his own boots with some difficulty, the chain between them clattering on the rock.

“Last night I asked you to lie with me,” says Jaskier. “I think the reward is for that. I think my mother expected us to try this. To try and find a wizard. I think the spell is trying to push us to…” He pauses, then says, “Let me try something.”

Jaskier darts close and kisses Geralt on the cheek. Just the quickest peck. He feels the scrape of Geralt’s stubble under his lips.

Before he can react to that, Geralt laughs out loud. Jaskier opens his eyes. A fish has jumped right out of the stream beside them and lies dying on the flat grey stone. 

“That’s, uh, interesting,” says Geralt. 

“Isn’t it,” says Jaskier.

“We have no food and no coin. And no way to get coin. But if you kiss me…”

Jaskier’s stomach flips. “Yes,” he says.


	3. Chapter 3

Later, sated by a meal of baked fish and some wild herbs and more sweet plums, wearing comfortable boots and a warm cloak, Jaskier is following Geralt once more, staring at his wide bare back, trying to keep up with his pace. Before long, the grasslands end and they reach more woods. The path begins to climb uphill. 

Jaskier, not used to this much walking, soon starts to tire and finally says what he’s been thinking about for the last hour, “Maybe we should experiment with the magic?”

“What?” says Geralt not turning around.

“See what else we can get.”

“What else do we want?” says Geralt. “We are fed. You have boots. Now all we need to do is travel to the top of Grey Mountain. These are its foothills.”

“It’s still going to take us days. Maybe we could get there quicker if you did something.”

Geralt still barely looks around, forging ahead up the path so Jaskier is just bouncing and skipping along behind him. “Like what?”

“You could kiss me.”

“We kissed. We got the fish. We don’t need another fish.”

“You could kiss me properly. Maybe we’d get a horse?”

“What do you mean by properly?”

“Well…” Jaskier stops short, the chain between them goes taut and jerks at Geralt’s arm. He turns around and looks back at Jaskier. “See that tree?” Geralt nods. “You could press me up against it and kiss me slowly, ease me open and, and push your tongue into mouth.” Jaskier finds he squirms as he says that. The idea of it like a hot rush through him. Was that magic or was that real? Does he really feel that?

“I don’t think so,” says Geralt, turning away and pulling at the cuffs. Jaskier takes a stumbling step forward.

“But look,” says Jaskier, “isn’t this normal for you? Transactional sex acts. You have sex, you get something. Why is this any different?”

Geralt stops so suddenly on the path Jaskier bumps into the back of him. Geralt whirls around and grabs hold of Jaskier by the fur collar of his cloak. He lifts him full and bodily from the ground with a grunt and shoves him back against the tree Jaskier pointed out a moment ago. 

Jaskier heart flips. But Geralt doesn’t kiss him, Geralt says, “Listen to me, Prince Jaskier, you can come up with whatever reasons and excuses you want, but we’re not doing anything like that while magic is involved.” He takes a breath. “Now, if after we get these off that is what you still want, ask me then. And I will do it, gladly.”

“W-Will you?” Jaskier’s voice comes out high pitched and breathy.

Geralt’s face is very close. He says, softly, “Yes, I will. I will kiss you, as you described. Exactly as you described.”

Jaskier swallows. His cloak is mostly open. Under it, he’s still only wearing the wretched piece of silk. He can feel the heat of Geralt’s naked upper body, thick and strong. “Do you want to kiss me?” he whispers. 

Before Geralt can reply, however, there’s a long shout from deeper in the woods, running steps, a call of, “Just here. I see them, here.”

Geralt and Jaskier freeze. They’re not hidden where they are, just off the path, just in the tree line, pressed against one fo the very first trees.

Three of them appear from the trees. Bandits. A leader shouting, “Yes, lovers, yes.” A drawn sword. From the corner of Jaskier’s eye he can see the other two bandits have bows in hand, arrows aimed. 

The bandit’s leader, the one closest to them, takes a step nearer. He jabs at Geralt’s flank with his sword. “Well, now,” he says, “I call first turn on the pretty one if they don’t have any coin. And they sure look like they don’t.”

Jaskier leans around Geralt to meet the bandit’s eye. “Excuse me, but can I ask which of us you are calling ‘the pretty one’?”

Geralt sighs.

Jaskier catches his eye. “What?” says Jaskier. And Geralt mutters, “Oh, fuck it,” and leans in and kisses Jaskier hard and deep on the mouth. It’s so sudden, but Jaskier goes soft with it. The kiss is so good. It’s light as air but he feels is in his core. Jaskier’s legs are water, the tree at his back is all that is holding him up, or it would be if that tree were still there. It’s gone. He’s lying on the ground. Lying on the ground with Geralt on top of him, Geralt’s body, heavy on his. He moans with pleasure and opens his mouth wider, wanting Geralt deeper inside him.

But Geralt stops kissing, scrambles up to a sitting position, astride Jaskier’s thighs.

Jaskier turns his head. They’re not in the woods anymore. They’re on a small patch of sandy earth. Looking one way, Jaskier can see the world. They are somewhere high up and the sun is starting to set. Jaskier can see for miles, woodlands and grasslands stretching away below them. He looks the other way. The stone facade of a castle, a large wooden door. 

Jaskier looks back up at Geralt. “Where are we?” he says.

“I think we’re where we were trying to get to,” Geralt says.

* * *

When Geralt knocks on the door it is opened by a slender old man in grey robes. 

Geralt eyes him. “Are you Kandan, a wizard,” he says, bluntly.

“What do you want?” says the old man, who, it appears, can match Geralt for conveying a bad temper in a very few words. 

Geralt lifts his left hand, dragging Jaskier’s right into the air. Demonstrating the way they are cuffed together.

“Magic?”

“Yes.”

“Can you pay?”

“This one,” Geralt says, “is the Regent Prince of Starra.”

The old man looks distinctly unimpressed. But he says, “Come this way.”

The old man, who, Jaskier notes, hasn’t actually confirmed whether or not he is a wizard called Kandan leads them through an entrance hall and into a room that looks like a cross between a kitchen and an apothecary. He gestures for them to put their chained wrists up on a wooden bench. He lights three candles and takes a long look at the metal as it sparkles in the light.

“You’re tried a blacksmith?” he says, poking the chain gently with a finger.

“Wouldn’t even try it,” says Geralt.

“Wise,” says the old man. “This is strong magic. Who did this?”

“My mother,” says Jaskier.

“I see,” says the old man, looking again. “The Queen Regent of Starra, then.” He pauses, then says, “I think I can break this spell for you. It will cost one hundred silver.”

“Fine,” says Geralt and Jaskier together. 

The old man raises a finger. “But it will take a while. It is late. I suggest you spend the night and I will make the preparations.”

“You can’t do it now?” says Geralt.

The old man looks at Geralt’s hard, set face. He raises a hand and taps Geralt’s cheek. “One night, son,” he says indulgently. “It will just take me one night.”

The old man shows them to a bedroom. It’s not as nice as the room Jaskier has at the palace, but he is delighted by the idea of sleeping a real bed, all the same. 

“Obviously,” says the old man, walking into the room behind you, circumstances demand that you share a bed.

“We’ve done it before,” says Geralt.

The old man makes a small sound, like that is interesting information, but all he says is, “There is a little supper for you on the table. Jaskier looks where the old man is pointing, at a table set under the window. There’s wine and a chicken and bread there. Jaskier is sure that food wasn’t there a moment ago. So it does seem like the man truly is a wizard, at least. “Now just relax,” says the old man, “and I promise you will be out of those chains by morning.”

When the wizard has gone, they drink the wine and eat the bread and meat. Geralt doesn’t say much, but he looks calmer than he has since he first appeared in Jaskier’s room. Perhaps it is the relief that they are finally going to be free. Perhaps it is the wine, which is slipping down nicely, making Jaskier’s cheeks glow. Perhaps Jaskier thinks, it is the memory of that kiss that brought them here. The way it had made Jaskier moan with pleasure. 

Thinking of the kiss makes him moan again, only very softly, but he finds himself tipping his head back and looks at Geralt in the candle light. His whole body feels so good, like it’s softly buzzing.

Geralt smiles at him. Jaskier has never seen Geralt smiles quite like that. His eyes look soft and dreamy. “Jaskier,” he says, quietly, on a breath and he rubs at his neck. His eyes widen, his expression changes to one of alarm. Geralt stands up sharply. He reaches out with his free hand and knocks Jaskier’s glass away. It smashes on the rug. With a second sweep he shoves the wine bottle onto the floor. 

Geralt drops to his knees, which pulls Jaskier down after him. Geralt sniffs at the spilled wine, then turns to Jaskier, chest heaving, hips rolling. “He drugged us,” Geralt says. His voice sounds breathy and desperate. He stares at Jaskier, wets his lips, then moans with a mix of arousal and annoyance.

Jaskier’s hips are moving too, his dick is hard. He feels weirdly aware of his hole, like it’s desperately empty. Geralt smells better than any scent he’s ever smelt in his life. He wants to kiss him more than he ever has, more than he wants to breathe. “Drugged us with what?”

With an agonised sound, Geralt rolls away from Jaskier on the floor, turns his back to him and curls up, like he’s in pain. “He’s drugged us so we break the spell ourselves.”


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt is curled on the floor, making a low moaning noise. One of Jaskier’s arms has been dragged over his body by the wrist chain. With other, Jaskier touches Geralt’s shoulder. His skin is hot and slick with sweat. At the touch, the sound Geralt is making becomes a groan of agony.

“Don’t,” Geralt pants out. “Don’t touch me. Please. I’m trying not to…” His voice vanishes into another groan.

Jaskier pulls his hand back. “It’s fine,” he says soothingly. “It’ll be fine, Geralt. It’s just an enhancer. People take them all the time in Starra.”

At that Geralt lets out a frustrated roaring noise and he rolls over towards Jaskier. The chain clanks as he gets Jaskier into his back and pins him there on the floor. Both of Jaskier wrists are in Geralt’s hands, Jaskier’s arms as stretched above his head. Jaskier is pinned under Geralt’s big body. He squirms as the enhancer rushes through him. _Gods, this feels good. It feels so good._ “Is it?” Geralt snarls. “Is it fine?” His face is wild. “How much fucking enhancer to you think that cunt gave us?”

“Geralt, I…” Geralt’s right. This is, this feeling is so much more than the tingling buzz Jaskier has heard described as the main effect of sexual enhancers. Jaskier’s whole body is throbbing, _screaming_ for sex. He bucks his hips up under Geralt’s. He feels it then. They can’t resist this. Either of them. Not all night

Geralt makes a feral sound and drops onto Jaskier, plasters their mouths together and kisses him hard. Desperate and hard. Jaskier moans into it. He feels like Geralt is devouring him, tongue deep in his mouth, thrusting like a promise of a fuck. He whispers onto the wet of Jaskier’s skin, “Fuck, fuck. I need to fuck you. Gods, I need to fuck you. Let me. Say I can.”

Jaskier wants that more than anything. Every nerve in his body is primed for it. It takes everything, every last thing Jaskier has to swallow hard and say, “No. You _can’t_. Not like this.”

“No.” Geralt pulls back and all but spits the word in his face. “ _No?_ Now you say no after teasing me all the way here about how we should kiss? How we should fuck? And now I’m willing, you’re fucking saying no to me. You’re saying you don’t want this?” He grinds his hard dick against Jaskier’s and Jaskier moans, head rolling back on the tile. “There’s a word for boys like you,” he snarls. “Not a nice one. Come on you fucking piece of shit, I know you want it. Open your legs for me, boy.”

“Maybe I do,” Jaskier pants. “But you don’t. Not really. You said you didn’t want this while there was magic involved. This isn’t you, it’s the enhancer. You’ll hate yourself if you do this. I know how important your code is to you.”

“Huh,” Geralt dips his head and licks Jaskier neck. Jaskier responds with a needy sounding moan he didn’t know he was capable of. Geralt is muttering into Jaskier’s skin like he didn’t hear what Jaskier just said about his code, “I know you fucking want me, boy. Let me have you. Let me.” He is grinding against Jaskier as he speaks. He’s not pinning Jaskier’s wrists anymore. Jaskier slides his hands down Geralt’s ribs. They feel so good, hard and sweat-slicked.

“Oh gods,” Jaskier rolls his head from side to side trying to shift the clouds of lust that are almost _painful_. “Geralt, I do want you. Even before we got here. Even before this. I’ve never wanted anyone before, didn’t think I ever could, even. But yes. Yes I do. I really do…,” He presses his head back further, showing more of his neck to Geralt, who falls on it, kissing, licking and biting. “Oh god, Geralt, fuck. Oh fuck. Not like this. We can’t do it like this. _Fuck._ ”

Jaskier thinks it then, bell-clear in is head. If they fuck, like this, now, they will never fuck again. The chain will break and they will wake up, full of shame and they will part like that and they will likely never see each other again.

It’s with extreme effort and some unexpected strength that Jaskier manages to put both his hands on Geralt’s chest and push is big body off him, hard enough that he tumbles onto his back on the floor. Jaskier climbs up on top of him, straddles his waist.

Geralt looks up, “Oh, you surprise me, boy. Would you be master? You know I am eager enough to take you however you wish.”

Jaskier inhales and slaps Geralt face. “Stop.”

Geralt moans with pleasure. His hips jolt. “Oh, again, boy. _Harder._ ” He’s still moaning.

“Geralt listen to me.” Jaskier grabs Geralt’s face in both hands and leans over him, “ _Listen._. We need to tie you up.”

Geralt looks up at Jaskier, still cloudy with lust but he seems to have heard. Perhaps the slap has worked. “What. Why me?” He says semi-lucidly, then it’s gone, and with a growl he adds, “Is that how you like it boy. You’d see me powerless under you?”

Jaskier takes a breath. “Please,” he says. “The enhancer is affecting you more than me. I’m not sure why. Maybe you drunk more of the wine. Maybe it’s because I’m, they way I am about things. But I still have a thought in my head that isn’t about fucking. So, listen to me.”

“Fucking,” Geralt says, a long purr, bucking his hips under Jaskier again. His cock bucks up between Jaskier’s legs. It’s so hard. So thick and delicious. Jaskier, for several moments, can’t think of anything but sliding down Geralt’s body unfastening his breeches, drawing that cock out and taking it in his mouth. Sucking him. Making him roar with pleasure. Taking his seed in his mouth, down his throat, on his face. Wearing it on his skin. _Gods, Geralt smells so good._

He grunts with the effort of pulling himself back together. “So I need to tie you down. He manages, speaking seems painful now. He thinks, anything that isn’t Geralt cock in him would be painful. Because if I don’t, sooner or later you’ll overpower me and, oh gods, you’ll fuck me.” He moans at the thought. “You’ll fuck me whether I want it or not.”

“Fuck you,” Geralt growls, thrusting upwards.

Jaskier takes a breath, pulls his free left hand back and hits Geralt with his fist, making painful contact with his big jaw. Jaskier yelps. It hurts. Geralt’s jaw is _hard_ , but it seems to have worked.

Geralt looks at Jaskier. He’s blinking, his lucidity is back. Jaskier can see something of it in is eyes. He swallows hard and says, “Yes, you’re right. Yes. Get me on the bed. Tie me up. Be quick.”

Jaskier sighs with relief to see a moment of the real Geralt as he staggers to his feet and watches Geralt heave himself up from the floor and get on the bed, Jaskier following on the chain. Geralt lies on his back, limbs out stretched. 

“Okay do it. Quick. What are you going to tie me with?”

Jaskier climbs up on the bed and pulls off the blue silk sheet. The only think he’s been wearing for days now. “The only thing I’ve got.”

Geralt moans as the silk falls away, leaving Jaskier naked. His skin feels alive. Tingling and delicious. His small body pale and smooth in the candle light. “That doesn’t help at all.”

“Grit your teeth,” says Jaskier as he rips the silk into five long strips. “You seem better. Are you better? Is it wearing off or just from me hitting you.”

“No,” Geralt takes a long breath. “It comes in waves. Do it quick. I won’t be this co operative for long.”

It’s tricky, tying Geralt’s limbs to the bed with one of Jaskier’s wrists is chained to one of Geralt’s. Not to mention being wildly, hopelessly horny and desperate to get fucked. But with a lot of twisting and stretching and moaning with desire, he manages.

By the time he’s done, Geralt is _writhing_ in the silk. Jaskier looks at him. He looks amazing. He breeches are so tight. is erection obvious. Jaskier can’t help himself. He crawls over it and gets the front of the breeches open with his free hand.

Geralt moans, twisting in the silks, “Yes, boy. Suck it. Need your hot mouth on me.”

Jaskier leans down and kisses the tip of Geralt’s dick. It is leaking viciously, wet and delicious. He’s about to take it, wants it so much, feels himself opening for it, like Geralt’s cock is a missing piece of him.

“Jaskier, stop,” Geralt shouts at him, pulling a bit of lucid strength from somewhere. “Get down. Get off the bed now.”

The shout is enough to make him come to is senses. Jaskier slides down, off the bed and sits on the floor, his wrist dragged up to Geralt’s bound in the silk. He stretches and takes the last strip of silk, uses it around his waist to tie himself to the bedpost. Making the most tight and complicated knot he can. Hopefully if he’s ever feeling lucid enough to undo it, he’ll be lucid enough not to. Finally, he pulls down a blanket and wraps himself in it. His own cock is weeping as lusciously as Geralt’s.

“Fuck, Jaskier,” Geralt moans, up on the bed. “I want you so much.”

“It’s, uh, it’s the drug,” Jaskier says, thickly.

“It’s not, uh, not just the drug. I fucking want you. Do you want me? Please say you do. Or I’ll go mad.”

“I do,” Jaskier moans. “I meant what I said. It’s not the enhancer. And it’s not the chain either. I’ve never felt this way. Geralt. Not about anyone.” He takes a breath. Thinking is slow and hard. is brain feels like treacle. “When this has worn off, in morning, will you make love to me? Not to get rid of the chain. Just because we want to, will you?”

“I’d like that,” says Geralt quietly. “I like, ah, fuck.” Jaskier can hear it in his voice. Another wave of the drug finally and fully overtaking him. “I will fuck you boy. I will fucking fuck you.” Jaskier hears the bed creak as Geralt tests the silks. “Get up here boy,” Geralt snarls. “Get up her and get your sweet little arse on my fucking cock.”

Jaskier moans at the idea, but says, “No Geralt. It’s not what you really want.”

“Then I’ll get free. I’ll get free and then it will be by force. I won’t be gentle. I’ll fuck you screaming. But you’d like that wouldn’t you? I know what you are.”

Jaskier pulls the blanket up over his head and moans with frustration. But he can still hear Geralt’s delicious threats as he writhes on the bed.

* * *

Jaskier wakes to a blue dawn and the sound of Geralt snoring on the bed. He feels fine. His head is clear. The enhancer is gone. He manages after a few failed attempts to unfasten the silk holding him to the bedpost and climbs up on the bed and unties Geralt’s left wrist, then curls up next to his big body. Geralt mutters something and puts his arm around Jaskier. He opens one eye. 

“Oh no,” he says with a resignation to his voice, as he sees him. “Did you get free? Did we? When we were drugged.”

Jaskier smiles at him. “Nope. Chain’s still on,” he says, lifting his arm to show it.


	5. Chapter 5

Soft and tentative, Geralt says, “Do you still want…?”

“Do you?”

In response, Geralt leans closer and kisses Jaskier softly on the mouth. For a moments, after their lips touch, they both pause, breath held, waiting to see if anything magical happens. But nothing does. Just an ordinary kiss. Just that. 

More magical than anything.

Geralt keeps their lips presses together as he rolls Jaskier onto his back and covers him, stretches out his long body over him. He presses deeper then, pushing Jaskier down into the bed under the weight of his insistent mouth. Jaskier feels the weight of Geralt all along his naked body. He feels conscious of his nudity as Geralt rubs hotly against him. Strange it should feel so intense after so long dressed in almost nothing.

Jaskier moans, reaching around and grabbing the back of Geralt’s head, making him grunt as he pulls him even closer, deeper into the kiss.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says breathlessly when they break apart. “Jaskier, Regent Prince of Starra, may I make love to you?”

“Please, please do,” Jaskier says, a half broken moan. Then, “Will it hurt?”

Geralt catches Jaskier’s chin. “Ah, it will not, my prince. I will not hurt you. I stake my reputation upon it. There is oil by the bed here.” And then says, a little more darkly, “And to be sure, I will prepare you until you are begging to be filled.”

Jaskier makes a soft strange whimper, not even sure what that could mean, as Geralt slides down Jaskier’s body until his face is level with Jaskier’s twitching hips. His cock is half hard between his legs, but it isn’t that Geralt is focusing on. Instead, Geralt nudges Jaskier’s legs apart, spreading him wide open. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier begins.

“Hush, prince. Let me see to you,” says Geralt, before ducking his head and licking a long lazy stripe between Jaskier’s legs, diving deep into the split of his arse, finding his hole and teasing around it.

Jaskier moans. The wet heat of it is too much. It twists inside him so hard and fast he thinks, for a moment that it might have awakened some of the residue of the pleasure drug. His cock is instantly fully hard, weeping to his belly. 

Geralt makes a low satisfied sound and licks him again. And again. And _again_.

Jaskier keens at the sensation, rolling his head against the furs of the bed. The feeling is beyond words. He feels like a forgotten part of him is waking up after a long winter. 

Geralt slides his tongue right into Jaskier’s hole, then. Jaskier’s yelps. It’s a wildly good feeling, so intense he sees stars. His dick is hard on his belly, slickly wet. Geralt fucks his tongue in and out of him a few times, then Jaskier feels something more, and realises Geralt has slipped an oiled finger into him alongside his tongue.

Which becomes two fingers, then three and Jaskier is rolling his head back on the furs, making deep rasping noises and finally, finding the control to say, “Please. Do it now. Please.”

Geralt moves, climbing Jaskier’s body to kiss him. He tastes good, of Jaskier, wanton, dark and _good_. Jaskier pulls his face closer, kissing deep and, at the same time, Geralt positions himself and slides into Jaskier’s hole in one long, smooth movement. Jaskier moans long and deep into Geralt’s mouth and Geralt gives a kind of satisfied chuckle.

“ _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier says brokenly, when Geralt pulls back from the kiss. But that’s all he can say, before Geralt fucks into him again and plasters their mouths back together.

He fucks him slowly, finding a deep easy rhythm that feels good, but Jaskier finds himself squirming, wanting more and more. “Please,” he moans out eventually, finding breath somehow, “harder. Do it harder.”

Geralt lifts his body up a little so he can see Jaskier’s face. He touches his bottom lip with a thumb. He’s smiling. “You sure, my prince?”

All Jaskier can do is nod.

Geralt pulls back like a mechanism winding, then slams back in. Jaskier can feel it in his teeth. It’s so good he feels like he’s coming apart. Geralt does the same thing a couple of times and Jaskier can feels something happening inside him. He’s going to spend, he’s sure of it. He’s going to spend without touch.

And then he feels something else, something cold deep in his belly.

“Geralt,” he moans out, “Geralt stop. Please stop.”

Geralt’s body stills. He catches his breath and strokes Jaskier’s cheekbone. “Prince?”

“Geralt, I…” Jaskier doesn’t how to explain. “I’m close to spilling.”

Geralt kisses his temple. “That’s good. Just let go.”

“No, no, but,” Jaskier shakes his head. “What will happen when I do. Is that when the chain will vanish?”

“Perhaps. You understand your mother’s charms better than I.”

“And if it does, when that happens, what will you do? Will you leave?”

Geralt’s smiles gets a little wider and a littler warmer. “Dear Prince,” he says, “I think we ought to discuss our future when we are not chained together, but,” he leans down and kisses Jaskier’s temple, “I have no plans to go anywhere.”

“I see,” Jaskier says shakily.”

“Then can I continue?”

“Please. Yes, please.”

Geralt begins to move again, slowly pressing forward and then drawing back.

“No please,” Jaskier whimpers softly. “Like before. Fuck me hard like before.”

“As you wish, boy,” says Geralt, thrusting deeper, taking Jaskier’s breath as he fucks him harder than before. After a moment or two he lifts one of Jaskier’s legs, big hands splayed on his knee and his calf and raises it up, placing Jaskier’s leg on his wide shoulder. When Geralt moves like this it feels to Jaskier like a whole new set of pleasures are unlocked. Geralt is deep inside him, fucking him wildly, it feels so good. And before Jaskier is really fully aware of _how_ good it is, he’s lost, screaming, spilling between their bodies.

Geralt’s own release is moments behind. He roars with it, bellowing and collapsing onto Jaskier’s chest, damp with sweat.

When Jaskier opens his eyes, he finds he’s looking at his own right wrist. It feels, suddenly lighter than air. The chain, the cuff, are gone.

He stares at his wrist.Then he looks at Geralt, who has his eyes open, gazing back.

There’s a lump in Jaskier’s throat. “Are you,” he says, “are you really not going to leave?

Geralt leans down, close and soft and real and kisses him, so slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for enjoying this so much, friends.

**Author's Note:**

> https://mathildia.tumblr.com/


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